“Tell you what, you write that all down in a book, and you can gift me a copy,” said Sally. “Right now, just get to the point.”
“I had to schmooze them all. It was a big thing. We had to pitch the final project to them all, and win them over, and you know, they had to get something out of it. So I came up with the idea of a three-day luxury closing. I hired an island in the Bahamas, the whole thing, 5-star luxury. Brought all these people from Boston down to the Caribbean and put them up. Spared no expense. It was a hell of a show.”
“And how did you pay for all this?” asked Sally.
“That was what I needed the bridging loan for. I couldn’t go to any regular banks or financiers because I didn’t want them to get wind of the project. They’d want in, or they’d try to steal it from under me.”
“So you went to the Kazakh mob.”
“I didn’t know that. All I knew was that a colleague mentioned once that if you needed short-term money without the paperwork, this guy was in Stamford. So I made some calls and he lent me the money.”
“And what did you have to offer in return?”
“The terms were ten percent a month, capped at twelve months.”
“How long ago?”
“The holding period is about to hit six months.”
“So you now owe them four hundred fifty for the two fifty stake.”
“Something like that.”
“Which you don’t have.”
Brett shook his head.
“What happened in the Bahamas?”
Brett’s face flushed. He took longer than necessary to answer.
“I got shanghaied. I paid for the whole thing, and these Irish guys in Boston used the island time to hold secret meetings with the politicians, and they closed the deal without me.”
I felt the air get sucked from the room. Most of us don’t fail so spectacularly because most of us don’t try to succeed so spectacularly, but most of us know the feeling of being played. Whether it was on the school playground when someone promised to pick you in a team but then didn’t, or by a partner or lover who jilted or cheated, or even by the voice in our own head, telling us one thing while letting us do another thing that sabotaged us. We all went quiet for a moment because we all understood how grandly Brett had been played, and how much of a fool he had been made to look. It would have been easy to make a cheap remark at his expense, but that was too low, and it didn’t solve the problem at hand.
“Tell me about Nurlan,” said Sally.
Brett took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Where’d you meet him?”
Brett shuffled his feet again. It was becoming a thing.
“In a warehouse.”
I looked at Sally and then at Brett. “In Springdale?”
Brett frowned. “How did you know that?”
I shrugged.
“And what did you tell him?” asked Sal.
“About what?”
“About anything. Let’s start with why you needed the cash.”
“I told him I was working on a big project and I needed to close the deal with an event.”
“What did you tell him about the nature of the project?”
“I don’t recall. I mean, I guess a fair bit. I told him that it was a big thing in Boston, and I gave him some numbers about costs and returns. Nothing too specific but I had to show that he would get his money back.”
“And he just gave you the money? Just like that?”
“Yes. A guy delivered it to my office.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand in cash.”
“Yes.”
“And did you sign terms?”
“You mean a contract? No. We shook hands on it.”
“And apart from the vig, did he have any other terms?”
“No. I mean, he said when I got the deal signed that he wanted in on the funding. He said he could get more money.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we would cross that bridge when we got to it.”
Sally sipped his tea. “Has he been in contact since?”
“Just once. Right after the Bahamas event. A guy came to my office. He wanted to know how it went and when things would be signed. I told him business with governments can move slow and I’d let him know.”
Sally sat back in his sofa and steepled his hands under his chin.
“What do you think?” asked Ellen.
“I think it explains a few things,” said Sally. “See, this man, Nurlan, he is an ethnic Kazakh—from Kazakhstan. But they’re not just Kazakhs, they’re nationalists. They believe in the pure Kazakh race as much as this geographic country on a map. And that limits them, because they won’t work with outsiders. So they only number a few hundred in the United States, and that means they can’t afford a war over territory. The Russian mob came into New York with lots of money and a large number of people, which meant they could take territory.”
“My goodness,” said Ellen. “What on earth does this have to do with Brett?”
“I think I see it,” said Sal. “See, the Kazakhs settled on this territory between New York and Boston, which was smart but also limiting. I suspect they have more money than troops, so they can spread their wings but they can’t fight for the territory, so they’re looking for other means. And Brett gave them one. See, they wouldn’t take on the Irish in Boston, not directly, but if they could fund some mega-projects there through a third party, that could give them the toehold they desire.”
“How do you know they’ve got all this money?” I asked.
“Logic. There’s oil in Kazakhstan, that we know. But did you see what was in the warehouse?”
“You’ve been to the warehouse?” asked Brett.
“We have,” said Sal, looking at me.
“I didn’t see anything. Just an old man and some computers.”
“A lot of computers, wouldn’t you say?”
“I guess. What are they, hackers?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s a cryptocurrency farm.”
“A what now?”
“Cryptocurrency. You’ve heard of Bitcoin?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, cryptocurrency is basically digital currency. It’s nationless and stateless. It isn’t controlled by any central bank. It is essentially an encrypted code that defines who owns what units of currency. And it’s all done using large banks of computer servers.”
“So they’re stealing digital money?” I asked.
“No, quite the opposite. They’re confirming it. See, all cryptocurrency really is, is a piece of code that says you, Miami, give X units of currency to Ellen here. But that transaction has to be confirmed. In the traditional system, that is done by your bank, or a clearinghouse like Visa. But in cryptocurrency there is no central bank, so transactions have to be confirmed in a decentralized way, and that is done by what they call miners. These miners essentially confirm the transaction, and once that happens it is added to the blockchain—the long line of code with all the transactions in it—and it is set in stone. It can’t be replicated or stolen. But to do this task of confirming the transactions, these decentralized miners get a tiny cut of the transaction, just like Visa takes a cut from any business that accepts their card. And it takes a lot of computer power to do this. Hence all the computers in the warehouse.”
I looked at Sally like I had never seen him before. “Where on earth did you learn this?” I asked him.
“I have kids help me in the shop. They know this stuff. And I read. You should try it.”
I didn’t think that reading was going to help me understand cryptocurrency, so I just rolled my eyes.
“So you’re saying this thing is legal?”
“Right now it is. Governments hate it of course, because they don’t control it. And they can’t see who owns the money. It’s anonymous, so it’s perfect for money laundering.”
“Is that what Nurlan is doing?”
“Po
ssibly. But that’s not the point. The point is they are bringing in untraceable currency, and once they convert it to dollars, they can play with it in the real world. And I think they bought into Brett’s dream. They saw their way into the Boston underground.”
“How does Brett get them into the mob scene in Boston?” asked Ellen. “I don’t get that.”
“It’s the project. Infrastructure. Government projects like that are all about largesse. Let me ask you, when was the last time you heard of a government project running to budget.”
“You never hear that,” I said.
“No, you don’t. And do you think that a company that builds roads doesn’t know how much it costs to lay a mile of tar or build a concrete overpass? Of course they do. But that’s all covered in the initial bid. The overrun is where the politicians get their gravy, where the less salubrious operators get their take.”
“That’s a rather cynical view of the world,” said Ellen.
“When you swim in the sea you don’t believe there are fish all around you, until you put on a mask and take a look below the surface.”
I said nothing to that. Sally knew these people. Hell, he was these people.
“So how does this help us?” I asked.
“It explains why they don’t want to sell the debt,” said Sal.
“You tried to buy my debt?” asked Brett.
“We did, and they didn’t bite. Not for any price. Which tells me you are worth more than the money. It tells me they think you are their way into the Boston market. So we have to find a way to make them understand that you are not, but do that in a way that doesn’t make them want to kill you.”
“Kill him?” spat Ellen. “Why on earth would they kill him?”
“If they can’t get their money back, they’ll kill him. They can’t let him off. They won’t want that kind of example out there. But even then, if they feel like they’ve wasted their time on it—or Brett’s wasted their time—they might kill him out of spite.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Brett.
“I couldn’t be more serious. If the Irish in Boston get wind of their involvement, well they won’t take kindly to it, and they might come knocking on the Kazakhs’ door. And as I said, they aren’t large in number, and although they’ll fight a war if they have to, they can’t want it. It doesn’t make sense.”
“So he becomes a loose end?” I asked.
“More or less.”
“So what do we do?”
“We find the money,” said Ellen. “What they’re due, and maybe a little more.”
“I don’t have it,” said Brett.
“We find it,” said Ellen. “You made a mistake, Brett. It doesn’t have to be the end of everything. If we have to step back like Mr. Jones says, then we do. We sell the house. There’s some equity in it. I’ll call the agent tomorrow. We can find it.”
“What about Coach?” asked Brett.
“Coach isn’t going to kill you,” said Ellen.
“Someone he knows might,” I said.
“I don’t mean we cut and run,” she said. “That will just mean Brett is alive but in jail, and I don’t want my girls having a father in jail. We sell everything, we find the money, and then we work to pay off any that’s left. First we have to know what the number is.” She looked at Sally. “Do you know what that number is?”
“I will tomorrow.”
“So tomorrow we know. Tomorrow is day one.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I was getting a feeling that Ellen Pickering was going to be the point person on this little rescue mission. Brett was slowly realizing the depth of the doo-doo that he was in, but he wasn’t exactly what Ron liked to call out front of the problem. Ellen, however, seemed to grasp the gravity of things, and the measures required. She could see that this wasn’t about righting the ship, but rather getting everyone off it before it sunk, as it inevitably would. She looked the type who would start planning to build a new ship as soon as her feet hit dry land.
I was thinking about Ellen as Sal’s driver took me back to New Haven to get some sleep. Sal seemed to be deep in thought for a while, and I knew better than to interrupt him. Eventually he spoke as he watched through the window.
“I apologize,” he said.
“For what?”
“I may have overplayed our hand.”
“How do you mean?”
“I thought that Nurlan would negotiate. I thought his pragmatism would win over. Now I fear he thinks that my people in New York are involved in his business, which complicates things.”
“I think your intel was right. I think he is pragmatic. I don’t see how he carves out a territory if he’s not. So him not taking the deal just means money isn’t the motive.”
“That’s my fear, kid. Boston is the motive. He’s using Brett Pickering as his lever into Boston. He knows he can’t just barge in directly—that would upset the Irish, and that’s a war he can’t win. But if he can get in through the back door . . .”
“The Irish are going to figure it out eventually, aren’t they?”
“You would think, but maybe he figures once he has a piece of the action, he’s in. Getting the territory is always harder than holding it.”
We arrived back in New Haven and Sal let me out on the street and drove away. The lights were out in the Dunbar house so I crept along the driveway and up to the room above the garage. I flicked on a lamp and then sat on the bed and sent a text, and then I waited. Within a minute my phone rang.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey you,” said Danielle.
“Wasn’t sure what your schedule was.”
“Me, either. But right now I’m lying on a cold lonely bed watching a guy try to sell me a blender on television.”
“You buying?”
“We have a blender. What about you?”
“I don’t have a television.”
“And your day?”
“I’ve met some interesting people.”
“Do tell,” she said.
So I told. I told her about Brett and the deal, and how he had tried to make it all right by betting the farm on borrowed money. I told her how I had run into Beccy Williams and about the emptiness of Yale Bowl. I told her about the Kazakhs without getting too specific. I described them as a lender of absolute last resort. She knew the type. She listened and then when I was done she said, “This Brett guy should be in jail.”
“I know.”
‘It’s a Ponzi scheme, through and through.”
“I know.”
“So why haven’t you called the cops?”
“What’s the upside?”
“The upside is upholding law and order.”
“I get that, and you know I’m all for that.”
“Some days.”
I said nothing to that. “But here’s the thing. If I call the cops, they’ll arrest him. So his daughters will lose their father and his wife will lose her husband.”
“I feel for the daughters, not so much the wife.”
“And no one will get their money back. Not the lenders of last resort, who might come after the family, and certainly not Coach Dunbar. His retirement savings are gone.”
“And you think you can make this all better?”
“I’ve got to try.”
For moment I heard nothing. Then she said, “And that’s why I love you. And why I tolerate your occasional disregard for the law.”
I was glad she referred to it as occasional, because I felt like my disregarding of the law was becoming a bit of a thing.
“But you should be careful.”
“I will. I know what these fringe lenders are like.”
“I’m talking about your old school pal, Brett. Sometimes when people are backed into a corner, they come out swinging and they don’t care who they hit.”
“I’ll be careful. Just in case, you know anybody in the FBI up here?”
“I’m not sure this is an FBI matter.”
&
nbsp; “Brett’s in Connecticut, but some of the investors are in New York, and the supposed investment project is in Massachusetts. Plus there’s this whole Bahamas angle.”
“The FBI has a field office in New Haven, you could call.”
“You don’t know anyone?”
“Not in Connecticut. I know a few people in New York. And I do know a guy who works white collar crime in Boston. He used to work in Miami.”
“What’s his name?”
“Prager. Special Agent Jeffrey Prager.”
“Can I use your name?”
“If you’re reporting a crime you can.”
“Let me keep it in my back pocket, just in case.”
“Do. How are you feeling?”
“I’m not sick if that’s what you mean.”
“No, dummy, I mean being back in New Haven.”
“It’s weird. That’s the best I can say.”
“Florida’s weird.”
“In a very different way. I feel like I’m interrupting people’s lives here. Part of your brain says when you leave a place that it’s going to freeze in time and be just like you left it, but it isn’t. You move on, and everyone else does, too. Even the place changes. It’s like Lenny used to say: There’s no going back.”
“As long as there’s coming back,” she said.
“The sooner the better. I can feel myself becoming vitamin D deficient as we speak.”
I told her to stay safe and she said the same, and then I ended the call and lay back on the bed.
I was worried. I was worried that Nurlan wanted his hooks in Brett for his Boston contacts, but that those contacts weren’t worth a bean. I was worried that we wouldn’t get Coach his money back and stop the bad guys coming after Brett’s family. I was worried because I didn’t see a way to get the whole Rubik’s cube completed. Every time I made a move to complete one side, it ruined another side. I was worried that Sally and I had indeed overplayed our hand. Sal was right. If Nurlan wanted Brett for his Boston connections, he was now probably of the opinion that Sal’s people wanted in on the deal and would snatch Brett away—and if we told Nurlan that Brett’s deal had collapsed, it was unlikely he was going to believe that now.
I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling. I had stared many times at this particular ceiling. At first there had been tears in my eyes when I had done it. Then the tears had dried up and never come back. The cold air made my eyes itch and I had to close my lids, so I got to stare at nothing but darkness. But nothing is not a good thing to stare at in the frame of mind I was in, so I pushed from my mind images of Brett and Ellen and Beccy and falling autumn leaves and heavy clouds and breath I could see before my face, and Kazakh mobsters and fields where great stadia used to stand. I let new images in. First, just a smudge of blue. Then it became the ocean and then the sky. And then I heard the breaking waves and felt the ions charge my body and then I saw Ron and Mick and Muriel, and palm trees swaying in the warm breeze that I felt across my face. And then I was sitting on a stool at Longboard’s, and then I felt the grin form on my lips.
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